Ara couldn't shake the gnawing worry in her chest. Chenle had always been the spark of their group, the one who could turn even the worst days around with teasing remarks and easy laughter. But now, he felt like a shadow of himself. Ara knew she couldn't ignore it any longer.
One evening, she gathered Ningning and the rest of the Dreamies to talk.
"I don't know what's going on with him, but it feels serious," she admitted, her voice tight with concern. "He's not himself, and I think he needs us right now."
Renjun, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. "Maybe we should let him know we're here without overwhelming him. Sometimes, just knowing people care is enough."
The group agreed to take things slow, offering support in ways that felt natural rather than intrusive. Jaemin and Jisung volunteered to casually check in on him, keeping things light and simple. Ningning began leaving small notes and snacks, little reminders that he was loved, even if he wasn't ready to talk.
But Ara felt like she needed to do more. Chenle had always been there for her, through her darkest moments, never asking for anything in return. She wanted to be that person for him now. Late at night, she read articles about anxiety and depression, searching for ways to help without pushing him too hard.
One evening, she and Kun invited Chenle to a quiet dinner at home. They kept the conversation casual, steering clear of anything that might make him feel pressured. Kun told a story about how, as a kid, Chenle used to climb trees to rescue stray cats, his determination outweighing his fear of heights.
Chenle smiled... not the small, fleeting smiles he'd forced before, but one that reached his eyes.
After dinner, as Kun washed the dishes, Ara hesitated before handing Chenle a small leather-bound notebook.
"I thought maybe writing things down could help," she said softly. "You don't have to show anyone. Just... anything you're feeling. Even if it doesn't make sense."
Chenle stared at the journal, fingers brushing over the cover before finally taking it. "...Thanks," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Over the following weeks, small shifts began to appear. Chenle confided in Kun about restless nights and the exhaustion that weighed him down no matter how much he slept. Ara made an effort to spend time with him in ways that felt safe... watching movies, playing board games, or just sitting together in silence. The Dreamies never pressed, never asked too many questions, but they were always there, steady and reliable.
Slowly, Chenle started to return.
One afternoon, the soft sound of piano filled the house again. The notes were tentative at first, but as his fingers moved across the keys, confidence began to creep back into his music. He started showing up to gatherings more often, laughing a little louder, carrying a little less weight on his shoulders.
Even as the darkness began to lift, one question lingered.
Chenle hadn't told anyone, but he had thought about therapy. About sitting across from a stranger and saying, I think something's wrong with me.
But he hadn't gone.
Because deep down, he still wasn't sure if he needed it.
Or maybe... he just wasn't ready to admit that he did.
And so, he kept walking the fine line between darkness and light, leaning on the people who loved him, inching forward one day at a time. With Ara and Kun by his side, and the Dreamies quietly cheering him on from a distance, Chenle felt the first flickers of hope in what had been a long, shadowed stretch of his life.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't over. But it was a start.
And for now, that had to be enough.
